


A Million on My Soul

by vesuviannights



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Finger Sucking, First Person, Forced Orgasm, GN Reader, Humiliation, M/M, Monsterfucking, Public Sex, Rape, cum stuffing, dead dove do not eat, gender neutral reader, non-con, virgin mc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22142521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: The City of Vesuvia has been saved. The world is right once more. But you, the apprentice, are the price that was paid for the Devil's assistance. You are brought in front of the main 6 after they demand proof of your survival. When they try to attack and take you back, the Devil takes it one step further and takes you in front of them all, forcing them to watch frozen while you come undone.(Gender neutral reader, no genitals specified)
Relationships: Apprentice/Devil, Apprentice/The Devil, Reader/Devil, Reader/The Devil, You/Devil, You/The Devil
Comments: 7
Kudos: 247





	A Million on My Soul

**Author's Note:**

> There's multiple warnings and I don't have to put another one, but here we go: **this is a rape/non-con fic**. If that isn't your tea, leave.
> 
> Find me on my Tumblr [@vesuviannights](vesuviannights.tumblr.com).

My knees slam into cold stone, a rattle that takes every nerve in my body and my breath along with it. The faint scent of sage and blood presses in on me, lingering in the back of my throat as I struggle to retake the rest of my senses.

The blindfold is still in place. It always is when he takes me out of his realm. Faint voices come to my ears, screaming, but so quiet. My name, as though through a fog, and even when I turn my head it becomes no clearer.

I try to swallow my heart back into my chest. Try to stop the shake that wraps itself around every bone in my body. The terror of not knowing where he is, what he’s doing, what he has planned…it has never dulled in the time I’ve been his prisoner, and he has taken every measure to ensure that.

It is never about the act when it comes to the Devil. Never about touching, or sighing, or fucking, or doing anything to take physical power. It’s the _control_. The knowledge that he could. The hours spent watching me shake as he leans in closer and murmurs in my ear about every way he would have me. The unspoken threat as the tip of his claw follows the curve of my shoulder. 

Wherever I am now, whatever he’s about to do, none of it is any different, and it perhaps the one strong thought I have to grasp onto.

And then he removes the blindfold.

“As you can see, _magician,_ ” he croons, his voice projecting out to an unseen audience. “Perfectly alive.”

There is an almost bored edge to his voice, one he only ever has when he’s about to have me dance or spread myself out for him with no intention of every paying attention to me. It would have made me freeze, would have made me try to curl in on myself and grit my teeth in one motion—had it not been for what my clearing vision revealed a moment later.

Six figures. Six faces, so familiar it made my heart leap again and catch in my throat, a pain that took hold of my entire body. A single line stood before me, too far to touch, but close enough to see the way each of their faces contorted. Fury. Anguish. Horror. Guilt. _Regret._ Each of them had it, hidden somewhere in the turn of their lips, the darting of their eyes, the slump of their shoulders.

And why wouldn’t they? After all—it was their decision that had landed me here. Their thoughtless deal. I was only a prisoner because no one had thought that I would be the cost the Devil would demand for saving our world.

Tendrils of magic wrap themselves around my wrists and waist, pulling me to my feet. They remain as my eyes flicker over those six faces, as the figure of my very own nightmare comes to a stop behind me, his shadow blocking out what little sunlight the world has to offer.

“Don’t—!”

Asra’s growl does nothing to stop what comes. The Devil’s claws, one wrapped so tenderly around each wrist. The sharpened tips press into each of my pulse points, and he hums quietly in my ear when he senses it begin to kick and flutter in protest. 

Asra calls again. Lucio moves with his hand to his sword. My eyes shift to each of them as the pressure increases, as the threat of spilling blood becomes almost as close to reality as the one where the warmth pressed into my lower back will find somewhere else to nestle.

But he has me well trained. I don’t move, I don’t utter a sound, as he presses into my back and begins to move my arms. Like a puppet on fate’s unbreakable strings they rise, their movements a soft flutter as they arc and stretch above my head. He pauses there for a moment before bringing one down, and then the other, and then repeating the process all over again.

_A puppet. A dancer. A performer._

“As you can see,” he repeats, and this time he speaks into the side of my head, barely above a murmur. “Perfectly alive. Moving. Breathing. And I assure you—” He pauses to bring my arms in, one of my own hands to my throat, the other pressing down my stomach and down, down, down. “— _very_ well taken care of.”

As he speaks, my eyes are dragged upward and locked once more onto the people before me. The horrified widening of Portia’s eyes. The tremble of Muriel’s lips. When my eyes find Asra, he is almost unnaturally still, and he gives me a near unperceivable nod before the flurry of movement begins.

A flash of light from Asra’s hand. The _shing_ of polished steel as Lucio and Nadia draw their swords. Julian’s shift on his feet, just a little closer to where my feet are locked in place, his hand twitching toward me.

And then—blackness. Suffocating shadows pressing in on every inch of the world, and when they clear it’s to a tangle of bodies where my six saviours once stood. Now they were on their knees, or pressed into the floor, or frozen in place with weapons drawn. But all with a perfect view of us.

The Devil, in all this time, has not flinched. He gives a soft sigh in my ear, edged with impatience.

“Perhaps,” he purrs. One claw releases the hand settled between my legs, but the pressure still remains, bringing a flush to my cheeks. He brings it to my lips, tilting the hand at my neck until I’m looking up at him, suckling just like he had trained me to. “We could…show them, how well you are taken care of. It seems your magician is incapable of listening, and we know your Count cannot read—” Lucio gives a snarl that is immediately cut off by his own choked gargles. “—so it appears a _physical_ demonstration is in order.”

I am already shaking before his words are over. I always shake. I always swallow. My eyes always sting, just like now as my head gives a single, jerking nod. Because there is nothing for it, nothing I can do. He will tease, and taunt, and make me shake and cry. And then he will be done, and I will be fine, and…and somehow, I will make it out of this.

He pushes me with a claw to my shoulder, until I drop to my knees. Next, the familiar swipe of fabric as it is brushed from my shoulder, baring my skin for his teeth to graze against. I count the moments to still my heart, to even my breathing, but it doesn’t stop the shaking. 

I will always shake.

A pressure under my chin turns my head, forcing me to look into his crimson eyes as his claws—both magical and non—ghost over my body, leaving me with no chance to watch, only to wait and see where they will end.

One brushes along my upper abdomen. Another along my collarbone. A third ghosts the inside of my thigh with sharp-tipped talons, and my hips jerk at the threat. His lips curl into a smirk. The pressure at my chin releases, and he steps out of my line of vision, settling somewhere behind me.

And then he begins to push me down, chest to the floor. A claw at my back smooths down between my legs, making direct contact with my skin as the last scraps of my clothes fall away, such a direct intimacy he has never shown me before now.

It isn’t until the tip of a single unsharpened talon presses against my hole, circling and teasing, that something inside of me snaps, and the world roars to life around me.

Instantly I push back against him, not to seek more, but to stop him in wild, panicked movements that match my racing heart. My foot jerks out to kick him, my nails scramble against the cobble to pull myself forward. He swats it all away with an irritated sigh, claws digging into my hips deep enough to draw blood.

“NO!” I gasp out. My eyes sting; I can’t bring myself to look up from the ground. “No—please—you can’t—I’ve never—”

“ _Ssshhh…_ ” His murmur wraps around me like a caress, holding me in place as he drags the head of his cock between my legs. Wherever it touches, a slick is left along my skin, one that seeps its way into my body and wets everywhere I don’t want him to be.

The sound of ripping clothes, almost drowned out by my own yelp, my own plea to let me keep _something_.

Someone screams my name, and it’s cut off half through with a choked noise that makes my own bubble forth. The Devil’s claw returns to my hair, dragging his claws through with a tenderness that makes my body shake in a new, terrifying way.

“Hush, now,” he murmurs, to them. To me. “I would hate for you to ruin our time together with those… _ungrateful_ noises.”

A single digit, somehow without the talon, pushes its way into me, curling in on every sensitive spot with such finesse and precision that I cannot stop the low moan that immediately tumbles from my lips. My elbows shake as he probes and stretches, a second digit quickly joining the first, the two scissoring and moving inside of me.

My cheeks are already damp and streaked when a third slips in, tears dripping from my chin as he works me into the pliable little puppet he needs. He could have done worse. Could have shoved his cock inside of me with no preparation or preamble and had me screaming in pain and begging for it to stop as he fucked me in front of them all. Could have left me a bloodied, bruised mess at their feet as a show for what mistaking a Major Arcana’s help for _mercy_ would bring. But my pain, the screams, weren’t the objective here.

I feel his fingers slip from me, hear the soft _squelch_ of the magical lubricant he has left inside. Another soft whimper tumbles from me. I can’t stop them. I can’t stop _him_.

And then comes the unfamiliar sensation of something much thicker, much hotter, beginning to press into me. It’s a dull ache that spreads the further in he moves, filling and warming and causing tiny little gasps to bubble in my throat.

He doesn’t even give me the chance to breathe once he’s fully inside, just a moment where he murmurs praise I can’t hear, that I don’t _let_ myself hear, while he strokes a claw down my haunches, like a pet he is training for his own pleasure.

_And that’s all I am, aren’t I?_

The thought slams into me as he begins moving, the deep and slow thrusts I had always imagined a lover to have. Careful, tender, adoring. I am nothing but a pet to him, or perhaps something worse. A pet implies companionship, loyalty, a bond. I have no true purpose except to exist when he wants me to.

The claw at my side tightens and pushes, and my hips tilt up while my chest presses down to accommodate the change. The new angle has him deeper, hitting places that cause quiet little whimpers to bubble in my throat every other thrust while a strange warmth builds in my abdomen.

The Devil strokes my haunches once more, and along with it gives a low chuckle, a condescending _tut_. “That feels good, does it not? Are you enjoying my cock? Aren’t you so glad you saved yourself for me?”

I try to turn my face into the stone, to muffle the sob I know is bubbling up and nearly too late to stop. His claws wrap around the back of my neck and yank me up, returning me to my hands, chin tilted up for all to see.

“Look at each of them,” he commands me. My gaze is unfocused, fluttering around their bodies but never their faces. I can’t bring myself to. “Show them how much you are enjoying this. How well they have done in their carelessness.”

Without choice, my vision clears, and my eyes are steered to each of them in turn. Nothing about them has moved, each body still posed exactly how he had frozen them, with the exception of their eyes. Asra. Nadia. Lucio. Julian. Portia. Muriel. All watching, all unable to tear their eyes away as I pay the price for the one mistake we never considered. Each and every one forced to gaze upon me, the blotching mess of my face, the heave of my aching chest, the way my body rocks as the Devil’s cock thrusts into me and stretches me to the hilt.

The sound of it is something I can’t tune out. The wet squelching, the sounds of my body squeezing and tightening around him as it seeks more even as my mind screams at it not to. The heat in my abdomen has begun to spread out, little tendrils whispering at every nerve in my body, threatening something I’m terrified to discover.

But I do. The tether inside of me snaps, the warmth lashes out to every nerve, and I _scream_. Scream as he continues to fuck me. Scream as my hole convulses and twitches around him, as the evidence of my arousal marks everything it can. Scream as he forces my head to stay up, forces me to look each and every one of them in the eye, crying and sobbing from the humiliation of coming like a whore all over his cock while pleading not to.

The Devil gives a hum, distant in the fog of my mind, as he continues to thrust into me without change.

“Very good,” he commends. “What better proof that you are taken care of than having you scream while taking my cock in your greedy little hole? Now be a good, worthless little human and say ‘thank you’.”

When the tether snapped, something else had gone, too. I feel the words forming on my lips with almost no resistance, so quiet and cracked that I can’t recognise my own voice.

“Thank you.”

He gives another hum, but this time it comes with something else: the feel of his cock thickening inside of me, adding a little more pressure as his pace increases with it. I swallow down the cracked plea in my throat, just as his claw curls around it and pulls me up to rest back against his chest.

“Oh, that will not do at all,” he projects for everyone to hear. With a jerk of my head, he has my gaze locked with Julian’s, and I feel more tears begin to sting at my eyes. “How are your saviours meant to know you are truly happy with a pathetic murmur like that? Are you trying to convince them that I am _not_ doing a good job? That I am not treating you well?”

My head gives a shaking jerk, as much as it can in his hold, to try to tell him no. A panic bubbles in my chest when the heat begins to wrap itself around my body once more, a promise to keep going, to have them watch, until I please him.

I choke down a sob, gasp out my denial, but he ignores it all to keep thrusting into me, the head of his cock dragging along my insides as he croons.

“You can speak louder, I know you can. Scream it for them.” And then he leans in, right against my ear, a single talon pressing to my jugular. “And mean it this time.”

“THANK YOU!”

The words fly from my lips, near cut off by the sob that finally manages to escape, and the ones that teem out after. He holds me to him like a lover, like someone trying to fix my cries rather than cause them.

Only a few moments pass before I feel his cock twitching inside, and there is no energy or resistance left inside of me to fight when I feel him spill, his hot seed swelling my insides, marking me, staking its last claim on my now-gone innocence. It drips down my inner thighs when he pulls out, my knees giving as soon as he releases my waist and throat.

I barely notice them crack against the stone, or the way my palms scrape when my hands do the same. I shake as he walks around me, hooves clicking. My vision swims until he crouches before me and tilts my chin, forcing my gaze onto his.

There, he looks me over. There, he pushes my hair from my face with care. Presses a talon to my bottom lip to expose my teeth and shaking breaths.

And there, without thinking, I turn my head and wrap my tongue around it, my body a perfectly tuned instrument to his careful strums.

At the sight of my suckling, of my hooded eyes, at my shaking body, he gives a single hum of approval and then rises once more.

With a sweeping claw he turns to the group, eyeing them each in turn with a sneer.

“Proof enough?” He asks. “As you can see, your beloved _fool_ is quite alive and capable of speaking, and feeling, and screaming."

As he speaks, my clothes begin to rearrange themselves, the tatters stitching themselves back together, pulling themselves back over my exposed body to cover me once more. The tears on my face dry. A sensation like a warm, damp cloth presses against my inner thighs, against my abused hole, wherever the evidence has settled itself.

I barely manage to swallow back my bile at the idea of him being so careful, so _considerate,_ attempting to restore me to what I once was.

"And they're mine,” he continues. He turns to me and beckons with his claw, and my body rises of its own accord, setting itself back on two feet. “So the next time you think to set traps for me or waste your pathetic words on me to beg for their life, maybe consider this: they wouldn't be here if you had been powerful enough to save this world yourselves. This is on you."

And then we vanish. 


End file.
